


Blood Drops and Ruminations

by iamdangeroos



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 13:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18477385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamdangeroos/pseuds/iamdangeroos
Summary: This really is just an excuse for me to get inside Villanelle's head and try and figure out how her mind works. Seeing as we've never seen her this fragile, I really wanted to explore how these events affected her and how in other ways she defiantly remained the same. Following the occurrences of 2x02 with some spice of my own.





	Blood Drops and Ruminations

**Author's Note:**

> Note that Villanelle's direct thoughts are italicized, but some of her tone is kept throughout descriptions that aren't necessarily really narrated by her.  
> I hope you guys enjoy, I do not know if this will be a thing that I do for every episode, but I think I'd also like to explore Eve's perspective, perhaps on another episode (maybe the first one? her mind's a storm and a half in that one!)

_This has got to be the ugliest house I’ve ever seen._ “It’s such a lovely home!” Villanelle forced herself to say. _What a boring performance, in such hideous attire._ She couldn’t yet quite pinpoint it, but something about the man that was helping her felt terribly… off. Still, it’s not like she had much choice. Any person with half a brain wouldn’t so much as speak to her. She fought off a grimace, both from the pain from the stab injury and how downright ugly she felt when she saw herself in the mirror earlier that day. _How long has it been since I wore something beautiful?_ She tried to remember. The answer eluded her.

The man lead her to the living room, going on about his mother’s hobby of collecting dolls and spewed out some awfully unremarkable jokes that Villanelle had to exert all of her acting prowess to laugh at. All the while, flashes of a single woman clouded her mind, louder than any red flags. Even louder than the pain pulsating from her abdomen. Her dark hair, wild, untamed, clashing against silken sheets. The perfume she wore, the same perfume Villanelle herself gave her. Her eyes, brown and expressive and so full of curiosity just drinking her up. Her lips, quivering as she stuck the knife in. That instant look of regret. _Eve Polastri_.

“Can I get you anything?” The man asked awkwardly. _He is just so pathetic_ , the thought ran through Villanelle’s mind. _Pathetic, and so very boring compared to Eve._ Villanelle wanted to be rid of him as quick as possible. But she was hungry, and it has been so long since she ate anything that remotely resembled a delicacy. Hospital food was shite, and not that long ago she did with prison food. Something sweet but simple will do. Something comforting.

“Do you have any cake?” She asked.

“Oh, uh… No. But I can get you some,” This was more a suggestion or a question rather than a statement. _Does he have to have his hand held through everything?_ Villanelle wondered, already getting pissed off.

“Honestly you’ve done enough,” She sighed with gratitude and discomfort. _Naive, thankful, innocent_ , she reminded herself of some guidelines for the character. _Spoiled and so fucking hungry,_ after no more then a beat, she spewed out “Lemon Drizzle,” an apologetic smile smeared all over her face.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” He assured her and quick as that he was on his way. _Too eager to please,_ a voice in Villanelle’s head insisted. _It certainly won’t be the first time a man tries to fuck us and dies for it. At least it’ll be fun and messy if it comes down to it._ But truth be told, no amount of danger emanating from the man could take her mind off of the rollercoaster of emotions and events she had been through lately.

The moment the man walked out the door, Villanelle proceeded to lift up the ugly yellow T-shirt to expose where her wound was. She tore some of the bandage away from her skin, and ran a cautious finger around it. It hurt, it looked bad, and it smelled bad. _Quite a nasty way of saying I love you_ , but even the thought of Eve couldn’t mask the fact that her condition was getting worse. What with the medication and antibiotics she took from the hospital stolen, the wound kept getting worse and worse. A stab of desperation pierced through Villanelle as she carefully put the bandage back into place and threw her head back, trying to come up with a plan, now that she didn’t have to uphold the ridiculous charade.

A noise quickly snapped the assassin out of her thoughts. _Great. Not only am I surrounded by creepy dolls, but the creepy doll mansion is also haunted,_ she thought, sitting up. Haunted or no, and more likely infested with rats as Villanelle concluded, she needed to get medicine and fast. With every passing moment she could feel her fever building up. No matter how fucked up she got in the past, how injured and bloodied and beat up, she never had to hold out so long until she could treat the wounds. The thought made Villanelle uncomfortable. She made her way upstairs, leaning against the wall, doing her best not to put too much weight on her injury. It hurt with every step, with every breath, with every passing moment, constantly reminding her of her mortality. Of her mistake. She won’t make that one again. Underestimating Eve Polastri’s need for vengeance was foolish of her. But that’s not what Eve really wanted, she reminded herself. She could probably kill Villanelle if she really wanted to, but she didn’t. She lived for the hunt, for a worthy opponent. Whether the woman knew it or not, they were more alike than meets the eye. Eve needed her alive as much as she needed Eve, and now that her pass at revenge was behind them perhaps…

Villanelle closed the bathroom door behind her when she reached it, and turned on the bath faucet. If the prick comes back earlier than expected, she will have a good excuse for snooping around in here. And, in all his ever present creepiness, the man - Julien, she recalled now - had this weird thing with purity and privacy. She searched through the cabinets for anything that might help her take the edge off. She opened the wooden doors, finding to her disappointment only a small bottle of some off brand, shitty painkillers. Of course the man didn’t have anything good stashed in there. He was more vanilla than a church pastor. She took the bottle anyway, and poured three or four pills into her hand. Just as she was about to swallow them, there came a knock on the door.

“Elizabeth!” The man’s voice. _Good god he’s persistent,_ Villanelle rolled her eyes. She drank her pills down and put the bottle back. “Everything alright? Do you need anything?” _Only for you to choke and die, dear creepy Julien._

“No thank you, Julien!” She let out, surprising herself with how well she masked her annoyance with him.

“I’ll uh leave you to it, then!” He said and finally pissed off, allowing Villanelle to have some time with herself. A bath, what a concept! It has been so long since she had a good, long bath. She took off her clothes carefully, every move accounting for her lacerations. Bruises covered so much of her skin she vaguely reminded herself of a cow. The thought made her chuckle quietly. Still, there was something sexy about it in her mind. The body of a warrior goddess, fresh back from hell and strong even now. _Now,_ she thought about it. _Now must be the shittiest I’ve ever been._ Even compared to the prison, her current circumstances were inarguably worse. Villanelle touched the water surface, testing the temperature before slipping one foot in, and then another, until eventually she managed to lie down.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _Holy shit this feels good_ , the warm water encompassing her, Villanelle felt relaxed for a change. She marvelled at the feeling, taking it all in. A worthy break. She let her thoughts wander back to the boy from the hospital. Gabriel. What a funny kid. A certain feeling of pride filled her about what she did. Not only did she spare him from a life of misery and helplessness, but she also left a little treat for her girlfriend. Of everything that hospital offered in regards to food, that glistening red apple was by far the most enjoyable. And the prettiest. She prided herself on how witty it all was. He asked for the truth, and she gave it to him, expelling him from the plane where he lived. If you believe in epic biblical theological stories, anyway. And it coins such a nice message to Eve, so of course she left the apple, a single bite taken out of it, right next to him, facing the viewer.  A little present she knew would not be glanced over. Eve always did seem to be one of the few people in the world that appreciated Villanelle’s taste for theatrics. _It’s why she loves me so much_ . Villanelle glanced at the stab wound once more, thinking about how much closer it brought the two of them. In a way, they truly were inseparable now. Eve left a mark on Villanelle just as much as she left a mark on her, in her own way. Villanelle traced the wound with her finger, the painkillers now finally kicking in. _Inseparable._

She must have dozed off, because when Villanelle woke up from a knock on the door the water wasn’t so warm anymore. The noise startled her, and she recoiled too quickly, spilling water from the tub as a sharp wave of pain cut through her. She muffled a small scream as best she could. “Yes?”

“I left some clean clothes for you in the room next door, it’s, uh, where you’ll be sleeping if that’s alright with you. I’ll come around to check on you in twenty minutes.” Julien said.

When she walked into the room he mentioned, she was horrified to find that the room was filled to the brim with the same creepy dolls from downstairs. Overcoming a certain sense of chills and discomfort, Villanelle resentfully put on the fancy but in a completely non sexual way nightgown that he laid out for her. _What’s the point of an adult nightgown if it’s the least sexy piece of clothing I’ve ever seen? Even Gabriel’s pajamas had more sex appeal to them._ The gown sported a shade of greyish blue that would otherwise look pretty, had it not been for the somewhat amish design to it. As he promised, Julien came into the room not long after, knocking on the door before walking in.

“Did you find everything to your liking?” The man asked.

“Yes, of course! Thank you, you’ve already done so much but…” She took a deep breath. _I was beaten by my brother, I am scared to ask for anything,_ Villanelle looked up at Julien with big, gleaming eyes. “I think I might need some antibiotics.”

“What you need is rest,” He said. _Wrong fucking answer, buddy._ She did her best to hide her frustration, but the pain made it difficult. “You’ll be right as rain tomorrow.” _What a prick._

“But-” She had to think quickly, “I get tonsillitis, it could get infected!” She did her best to look weak and pathetic. In truth, about twenty dozen scenarios of killing this man shot through Villanelle’s head, each more satisfying than its predecessor.

“Open your mouth,” That was a twist Villanelle hadn’t expected. A confused expression on her face, she obeyed. Nothing prepared her for Julien sticking his fingers in her mouth, and both anger and utter confusion flared up inside her. _What the fuck._ “Say ‘Ah’,” _He’s got to be joking._ Nevertheless, Villanelle played along and let out a cautious ‘ah’, his fingers still in her mouth. “No white spots,” He said, now wiping his fingers against his shirt, the weird nightmare over as quick as it began.

“But-” She began to protest, but he cut her off.

“Little worry-wart, you’ll feel better in the morning, I promise!” _Though I can’t promise you that you will, Julien._ Villanelle could feel her muscles tense up, so ready for action, almost thirsty for it.

“You’d like a hottie-bottie?” That man was full of surprises. Confused once again, Villanelle had forgotten all about her devious plans to murder him right then and there.

“A what?” She asked.

“A hot water bottle.” Had he been a normal person, this would be the point where he would have said ‘Oh, I’m just fucking with you,’ but Julien was clearly not a normal person. To be fair, neither was she.

“I don’t think so,” She offered a smile, or the closest she could manage to one considering the circumstance.

“Okay,” and with that, he finally left the room. _What the actual fuck. What the fuck._ And once more, Villanelle’s mind was flooded with various instances of Julien dying. She could almost feel his throat between her hands, warm and pulsating. The bout of bloodlust didn’t last for long though, as Villanelle’s gaze caught that of a creepy doll, and then another, and then a whole heap of them.

“Fucking creepy,” She muttered under her breath, finally not having to hold up the accent. Before eventually giving in to sleep, she wrote a list of all the medicine she needed. Years of taking care of her own injuries made her quite knowledgeable in the field, and seeing as the pain killers seem to have completely worn off, Villanelle’s predicament was not heading anywhere good.

 

***

 

Spending the morning flashing in and out of consciousness, it was becoming clear to Villanelle that her situation was becoming dire. The pain was only getting more and more fierce, and slowly but surely Villanelle could feel the strength oozing out of her. Laying on the couch watching television with Julien’s mother - whom Villanelle found out he’d been locking in her room due to her dementia after a rather horrifying encounter the previous night. No matter how hard she begged, the man refused to get her the medicine she was so desperate for. Every instance of him bringing her tea or brushing her hair made her blood boil, and as the pain clouded her mind it became impossible for her to preserve the character. The house felt eerily claustrophobic what with all the windows closed, which only made her fever spike. She could now barely move without acute bouts of pain shooting from her stab wound. She was restless and powerless at the same while, a mixture Villanelle was experiencing for the first time. She was starting to feel like a cornered animal.

Snapping her out of the miserable vortex was none other than Julien’s ma. In a moment of what seemed like clarity she exclaimed a “Hello, dear,” that sent Villanelle’s heart racing.

Confused as to why the dementia ridden old lady is speaking, rather than staring at a random point in space like she had done until that moment, Villanelle sat up, glaring at her. “What-” _The fuck._

“How lovely to see you again,” The lady said.

“Were you faking it?” Conning a grown man into taking care of your every need is an impressive enough feat in Villanelle’s eyes. Only a smart person could keep it up this long and quite so convincingly.

“How’s Deb?” For a quick moment, Villanelle had hope that there was someone sane to talk to, but alas it was dementia after all. Her fast dreams of a cunning con lady were wiped clean, and once the initial moment of wonder passed - the pain from moving began to catch up with Villanelle. _Shit._

“Deb got fat,” Villanelle offered, somewhat pleased with herself for the funny comment, before lying back down.

“Oh dear, what a shame.” The lady truly seemed disappointed. _Yes, shameful Deb._ But then, a shift in the lady’s tone, a new and urgent layer to it. “You will be careful of Julien, won’t you?”

Forcing her to get back up, Villanelle’s heart skipped a beat. The ominous message was the last thing she needed at the moment. “What?”

“He’s a good boy, really,”

“What do you mean?”

But it was already too late. The old lady’s gaze was glassy again, revealing nothing but a vast void.

“Hey!” Villanelle tried to get her attention, but the lady looked away as if yet again unaware of her presence. “ **Hey!** ” _Useless._ “Come back!” Although there was no way to know if the old lady was just blubbering dementia madness or if she meant a word she said, the feeling of unease teemed inside Villanelle.  

Once Julien left, Villanelle gathered all of her strength and jumped on the opportunity. She scanned the house, checking every window - they were all closed. With each lock she tried to force open her frustration grew, and a notion of panic began to take seed. Hoping to remedy her wound somewhat, Villanelle doused a sanitary pad creepy Julien bought as per her demand (no antibiotics, still) with some alcohol she found in the kitchen and stuffed her mouth with some fabric to muffle her scream when she put the doused pad to the injury. The pain was searing and sharp. She was used to pain, but this was something else. It took hold of her entire being for a few moments that seemed like forever. _Shit, it’s worse than I thought_. Villanelle’s mind traveled back to Eve. She wondered what she was doing right now. If she was thinking about her all the time, too. If she found the little surprise she left for her at the hospital yet. If she was looking for her.

Villanelle kept pushing, out of spite if for nothing else. Spite for the organization. Spite for Vladimir. Spite for stupid, useless Julien. It was time, in her mind, to end this meaningless game. That weird prick deserved to die from the moment he pulled that finger shtick. She scoured the kitchen for knives or anything sharp she could use to make the bastard bleed to death, her veins afire with adrenalin and anticipation, flashes of hands covered with blood and dead empty stares pushing her to keep going. But there was nothing of the sort there. She must have landed on the one house in all of Britain that didn’t contain a single worthy knife. Her search was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. _Fuck._

“What are you looking for?” Julien asked. There was something different about him. He wasn’t so apologetic and unsure anymore, his growing frustration mirroring that of Villanelle. He wasn’t outright angry, but there was a evel of harshness underneath the surface.

“A kitchen knife,” Villanelle answered.

“What for?” A nervous smile appeared on his lips, and Villanelle couldn’t help but to smile back, a mocking smile.

“To stab you with.” To finally answer a question candidly without putting on a show felt incredibly satisfying. Julien replied with a nervous chuckle.

“Nothing sharp in the house, I’m afraid, mom might cut herself.” A clanking of keys came from his pocket, triggering a wave of anticipation from Villanelle, putting her Elizabeth face back on.

“Are you going to the Doctor’s-”

“Will you just stop badgering me for five minutes?” A raised voice, a crack in his facade. “Erm, I’ll bring you back some flu tablets.” He recovers. _That crazy, lying, useless son of a bitch._ As he left again, making no promise to get her what she needed, Villanelle charged at the old rotary dial phone mounted on the wall in front of her. _I’ll just call a cab_ , each spin took a painful amount of time that Villanelle didn’t know that she had. When they finally answered, her efforts proved to be futile - “I’m sorry mrs. Horovitz, we haven’t got anyone here who can help you, thank you for your call.” Breathless and cornered, Villanelle felt helpless. Trapped. Alone.

But not entirely alone. There was one person she had out there, one person that knew her in a way other people didn’t. One person she didn’t work for and who wouldn’t throw her immediately into jail. The person responsible for half the mess Villanelle was in. There was Eve. She was already spinning the dial before she even knew exactly who she was calling. It was a crazy idea, maybe even a stupid one, but she had no other choice. She didn’t have anywhere to go. She couldn’t go back to her apartment in Paris without getting killed in the process, in fact in the state she was in she could barely make it to the end of the street. The wait for the dial to reset after each rotation was insufferable, and the thought of the crazy man returning and going into a fit any second only made it worse.

The moment she heard an answer on the other line, Villanelle demanded to be connected to MI6. Stupid, hasty, but perhaps necessary.

“Is this a prank call?” The operator sounded posh and stupid.

“No, I need to speak to MI6.” _Come on, come on, come on_.

“I’m sorry, we can’t disclose that number.” _Fuck._

“Okay, well, tell them I’m going to blow up the House of the Parliament!” Anxious, Villanelle was no longer thinking in any patterns of sense. She needed a way out, and she needed it fast.

“You know, I get calls like this every day, it’s very distracting.” But the stuck up bitch doesn’t hang up, and instead transfers Villanelle to another line. _Could it be?_

“Hello?” Villanelle asked when the wait tone was replaced with silence.

“Hello,” an automated voice shot back, “please clearly state the name of the person you wish to be connected to after the tone.”

“Eve Polastri,” she lets out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” _Are you fucking kidding me?_

“Eve, Polastri,” she says, slower this time around, taking special care to separate the first name from the last.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” The machine repeated. _Oh for fuck’s sake!_

“ **Eve Polastri, you piece of shit!** ” Villanelle screamed out in a fit of rage, just as noise from the door announced Julien’s return. Without hanging the phone up, she darted back to the living room sofa, the sour taste of fear in her mouth. Pain met her as she sat down, relentless and paralyzing. Not screaming took up all of her concentration. Julien was starting to say something when he noticed the phone, repeating the same automated line over and over ‘Please hang up, try again’. Villanelle heard as he took the phone off the wall in silence, tearing the cable out of the wall. When he returned, he turned off the TV.

“Who were you calling?” He sounded severe. _Be Elizabeth, be Elizabeth._

“No one,” She tried to sound as harmless as she could. She looked at Julien with big, dumb, doe eyes.

“Don’t lie to me,” Again the crack in his facade, the dangerous tone to his words. “You ungrateful -” He sighed, “You think anyone else would pick up a girl like you? Give her a roof over her head? You thought I’d be an easy target, didn’t you?” _Yes, dammit._ “That you were taking advantage of a good Samaritan?” He starts to sound crazy, more muttering than speaking, “I see what you’re doing, don’t think I haven’t noticed!” Villanelle gulped, “Playing the innocent, batting your eyelashes-” _He really is crazy,_ “-feed you, look after you, give you everything you want. What do I get, hm? **What do I get? Nothing! Nothing! Why don’t I get anything?** ”

“It was a surprise!” Villanelle called out. She hadn’t the slightest clue what she was doing. “I-

I didn’t want to tell you!”

Julien looked confused. It slowed him down. “What are you talking about?”

“I… was on the phone to a bakery, I was ordering you a cake.” Maintaining the Elizabeth illusion, Villanelle batted her eyes at him apologetically.

“What cake?”

 _Cue the tears,_ “To thank you, for being my knight in shining armor,” _barf_ . _So gross._

“Oh, Elizabeth, I’m sorry,” _How dumb is he?_ But Villanelle kept the act up, closing in on herself and looking particularly heartbroken. “I’m so sorry, what an **idiot** I am,” he leaned down to hold on her hand, but she tore it away. “What must you think of me,” his ugly, beady eyes looked so disgusting to her. There, crouching next to her, was the perfect opportunity. Villanelle has had enough.

Dropping the accent and the act, she spoke. “I think you’re going to bleed to death.”

He looked lost. “What?”. She kicked him right in the face and started for the door. _Did he lock it when he came back? He said he forgot something - there’s a chance._ Not but a moment later she felt herself losing balance and falling to the floor. The idiot grabbed her by the foot. Her impact with the floor sent what felt like dozen flaming knives through her wound. Villanelle got angry. She immediately turned to kick him in the face, again. _That little son of a bitch_. She straddled him, hands around his neck, squeezing as hard as she could. It turned out as hard as she could wasn’t very hard at that moment. Still, the familiar feeling was exciting. She was strong enough to prevent him from breathing, his face was getting swollen and red, his eyes showed so many layers of desperation. Villanelle missed this.

But she didn’t have much of a chance to soak in the marvelous feeling, as the man punched her right in the wound, as if he knew. _That bitch!_ He pushed her away, immediately trying to choke her himself. Villanelle tried to hit his face, maybe take out an eye, trying to keep him away, all the while inching back, hoping to find _anything_ to hurt him with - and she did. A metal sculpture was the answer to her prayers, and she bashed Julien right in the head.

Villanelle got up, desperate to get out, to not be confined in the creepy house anymore. She made it to the door, but when she tried to open it it wouldn’t budge. She unlocked the series of locks, cussing under her breath. Still, the door was just as locked as before. _Shit shit shit shit shit._

She felt a pair of arms grab her from behind and lift her away from the door. Her head hit the wall, he fucking pushed her -  she realized. Then he grabbed her again, his arm attempting to block her airways. Villanelle stole little bouts of breath when she could, like she was trained to do, and pushed at him with her remaining might. She felt him hit the wall, and she went at it again until one arm let go of her, allowing her to hit him in the ribs - and then she saw it. A knitting stick. Big, and fancy and _oh so sharp_. She stuck it in his neck.

The look on his face was perhaps the most satisfactory thing Villanelle had ever experienced. Killing people for contracts was one thing, and it _was_ satisfactory in it’s own way. The targets were usually unsuspecting and it made it possible for Villanelle to get creative. At the same time, it was quick, and seeing as she didn’t really know the targets, it usually meant nothing. Well, maybe backing up onto Nadia felt similarly good, but still, it didn’t compare. Watching him look at her with such a look of surprise and finally, fear. Acknowledgement. At that moment he knew full well he was absolutely _fucked_. He tried to fuck with her but now he was the one gasping for air. Revenge felt incredible.

Then she pulled the knitting stick out. It left a puncture wound, nice and round. It shot out blood. Once, twice. The sight was beautiful. Then he tried to cover it, blood seeping between his fingers and spilling all over his clothes. He managed to walk over to a chair, his hand still clutching to the bleeding mess. Villanelle felt extatic. The smell reminded her of so many others. The dude she shot in an office building. The man whose eye she stuck a hairpin into. The smell of her own blood when Eve stabbed her. Julien was fucked. He was dying and he knew it. He was dying, he deserved it, he knew it and he feared it.

“This is what you get, Julien,” It almost felt like someone else was speaking for her. The rush of it all, the tingling feeling in her fingertips, the faint bit of pain still echoing from her stab wound. She let go of the bloody knitting stick. She watched as new trails of blood formed on Julien’s shirt, as his breathing became more and more shallow. She watched as his hand left the puncture wound, and as the look in his eyes glassed over. His head fell back, revealing so many blood drops trailing down his neck. Sticky and dark red and _so fucking beautiful._

She felt her powers finally leave her as the pain became stronger. She could no longer ignore it. She sat down on the floor, wiping the sweat away with the back of her hand. “I don’t want to say I told you so, but I told you so.” She told Julien’s now lifeless body. She looked up at him, examining her work. The placement wasn’t bad, she decided. Him sitting was already a good start. Still, it was all a bit… empty.

A few minutes later, Villanelle stepped back from her masterpiece, inspecting it. “This will do.” She decided. Eve Polastri was in for one hell of a callback.

 

***

 

Eve Polastri was like a shining beacon in a storm full of darkness and chaos. _She made it. It worked. She came here for me._ A part of Villanelle wanted to scream _notice me_ , but she had neither the strength, nor did she really want Eve to witness the state she was in. Still, knowing that Eve was still looking for her felt incredibly comforting. Her dark hair held up in a messy bun, her face aghast with the possibility of meeting her again. _She did it._

 

Villanelle only truly realized it the moment she made it out to the street, that she had nowhere to go. She also had no choice but to enter the red car that was signalling her. She had no choice but to sit in that car, a strong hand squeezing on her throat, the other holding her in place as her face was met with cold car window glass. _She no longer had a say_ . It was starting to dawn on her that perhaps she never did have a choice. Still, they wanted her. They could have killed her - and they did _try_ , unsuccessfully so - but now they wanted her working with them again. They even went through the bother of sending a whole new handler. One that had a thing for physical domination, it would seem. _If I only had my strength, you macho little piece of shit, I would have killed you._ But she didn’t have her strength. She couldn’t even resist. Unlike Julien, this man was a trained professional with a particularly short fuse.

Still, Villanelle had spite. And she had Eve. And she just made it out of hell, even when her condition was absolute shit. A spark of quiet anger woke up inside of her as she sat in the car. _I’m going to kill them all._

**Author's Note:**

> I'd be very grateful for any and all input from you. If you liked what you read, please consider leaving a comment! It makes writing a more fun and shared experience and just knowing people had similar or entirely contrasting thoughts is interesting!


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